Clockwork Wings
by BlueIce12
Summary: After spending a lifetime left in the darkness, she has finally been able to see the light. What she is about to discover has the potential to be the catalyst for change. Armed with nothing but her heart, will she seek the refuge in her home in the darkness, or embrace the infinite possibilities of the light? This is her story.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The sky is vast, as endless as the universe could possibly be; it's the limits to our imaginations as it is limitless.

It's such an extraordinary thing, so grand and seemingly untouchable; it's what makes humans want to know of it after all. The mysteries that hide within its unknown expanse, it's so very intriguing.

It changes from the comforting, azure, blue in the day to the mysterious, midnight, blue that is almost black at night time. It is many things, though not everything.

Those many things include brilliant stars. Stars start out small, dull, nobody really notices the baby stars, they're nothing interesting. Throughout their lives, they grow to be large, extraordinary beacons and symbols that people depend on and follow.

That also depends on whether they are large ones or small ones as well. The small ones will live out their lives not being noticed as much, and they will dull naturally as they brightened up at the start. The large ones are the ones who are unsure of their future. They have the potential to be the brightest in the vast universe, to be ones that stand out. They are also the ones that have the potential to live the longest, to live until the end of time.

They may also have short lives, however.

Their lives will end one day, either in darkness or everlasting light in which the star's life may never end. These stars will always be an eternally bright light worthy to stand in the sky forever.

Which one will I be, I wonder?


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 1 - Birth**

I remember the moments of when I first saw the world very well, or all the world that I could see that is.

I can see something in the distance. Or, perhaps it is really close to me? I can't tell, it's the first time I've seen what I see around me after all.

It's really, strange to say the least. I can see a lot of shiny things, are they grey? I think they are. It's a world of wonder I think. I mean, it's better than being stuck in a dark, boring place, where I sleep and can't do much else besides that.

At least I hope so.

I try to get up, but it seems that I can't move, but I don't know why. Or maybe I do know why? I mean why would I know how to move when all my life I've only been able to know how to dream and think and see in a world of darkness.

I wouldn't be moving then, would I? I'd be just lying there in all my glory, like a corpse. How lovely.

Or perhaps what I am doing right now by waking up from this dream of darkness is actually another dream?

Oh this is much too complicated for me to figure out!

But I can see something different now, it's no longer dark, so I should be able to do a whole new range of things and actions and have so many more dreams that I could have ever thought possible.

When you can see, you can touch and hear things, when you aren't stuck with nothing, it means that there's a whole new mess of things you could do! It'll be amazing!

And in this moment, I am sure that it isn't a dream.

Oh?

I hear something. It's clinking on the floor, metal upon metal I think. Oh so the floor must be metal, and the thing is metal too. Hmm, how peculiar.

There's somebody there. Somebody? Something? I can't tell...

It doesn't really look like me I think, and its movements are quite stiff looking. It's brownish, but kind of greyish too, and it wears something like a helmet I think. I don't see its eyes, so how does it know what to do? It must be a very smart thing then. I should like the thing to teach me to be so smart.

It's strangely efficient in what it does though, no mistakes in its movements. I don't see the face though, that would be what distinguishes him or her. No eyes, no mouth, no nose. It's just a helmet. It's not very pretty either; at least I don't like it much. It should be brighter, more colourful, and then I'll like it better.

I don't know who or what it is, but I can feel myself getting up, and there's less pressure on my body and I feel, lighter.

Whatever it was, it got rid of whatever was keeping me down, and I think I can move now. I'll have to remember to find that whatever it was. I like this person, or thing? It gave me the ability to move around, off of this table I was lying on. I have decided that they are pleasant, and that I don't dislike them.

They are good. I mean, I feel better already, so that must mean it's good. It made me feel better and all.

I can get up, and I think I still feel kind of, sort of, a little bit heavy. It's my first time being up and about after all. Although I don't think I expected it to be as tiring as it is turning out to be, a little sore on the side too.

Oh well, I hope it'll get better from here. I'm sure it will, if I try.

I can only take my time making steps at a time, very small steps, very small, feeble, quick, stumbling and bumbling little steps.

It seems to be a real struggle getting around; I mean I can barely make it to the door. I didn't think it would be this hard.

I huff. It's a little irritating being so tired, it is making me unhappy. Well, I have to at least make it to the door.

When I do, I make sure to grip the door frame real hard and lean on it for support. That feels better; I can sag in relief a little bit.

The sight of the outside however, blows me away.

The sight and feeling of the outside world is totally different from being in that place that I woke up in.

I see many different things, there are shiny things that you can see right through and there are other things that are just as smooth, but you can't see through again. How can that be when they look so similar? I'll have to figure it out one day.

I can briefly close my eyes, and I see myself in the little room again, except I can feel a warm breeze. It's much warmer than anything I've felt before.

My skin prickles against the rather foreign sensation, though not altogether unpleasant.

Well, compared to the feelings I've felt inside the little room I suppose.

I open my eyes and take a look around again, taking everything in and trying to make sense of what little I can comprehend.

This world is so different from the one I called mine, the one I had used to be in.

But wait.

It is my world too now, isn't it? Since I am here, clinging to a doorframe for support and not entirely understanding it, but I'm here as much as everything else is.

I feel kind of happy I think, it's so very amazing. I can see my reflection in these see through things, the corners of my mouth are perking up into a smile after all. My eyes were brown and blue, I had one each. So this is what I look like.

So many sights to see and discover...

Although I can't really seem to see the different things behind the see through thing, it's too dark.

However, I would like to see more things. It all seems quite, intriguing to say the least.

The tall things are very grey, I have to look up to try and see the top of them, and even then I still can't. They look kind of intimidating; I think I'm scared of them. I don't know why though. It's just a feeling I get. It is very much bigger than I am, so I guess it makes sense.

The ground is very grey too, but a darker grey, and quite dirty, it's making my feet go black. It's not very nice. I don't quite like it very much.

I was about to go about by taking another few steps again when I was pulled, quite hard, yanked quite off my feet actually by the someone or something that had woken me up.

At least, I think it was them.

Oh right! I forgot to say thank you to this thing. Maybe that's why it pulled at me. I guess I'll do that later.

It wasn't very pleasant when it yanked me, and when I saw other people I think, they didn't look the least bit like me.

I saw two of them. They looked quite similar, almost the same. They had big wide eyes, and they had mouths in the shapes of o's. There are others whose mouths were wide and shouting things that I don't really comprehend. The words don't really make sense to me, though I don't think they were happy, at least not as much as me.

Their voices weren't easy on the ears, that's for sure.

Their faces were scrunched up not very prettily after all.

And it is at this moment, I realize something that something feels a little strange deep within me, yet I have no idea what it really is. It's not uncomfortable I suppose, just a queer feeling that resonates deep within me, like a gentle hum vibrating throughout my body.

I wonder if this is what emptiness feels like, like there's a void within you that you don't really know is there and are even more clueless as to how to fill it.

Maybe I made it myself, maybe someone made it for me, I don't really know, nor have a single idea as to the answer.

I don't think it's completely bad though, if it is bad at all. I feel light, feel like air, it's really very free this kind of feeling, being able to wander and see everything with my very own eyes.

It is why I am good after all, happy and different, so that I can do good, I think.

I wonder if I can change the looks on their faces, so that they are very much like me, better, happier or something like that.

I am good, I will do good.

I think that makes sense, so that is what I shall do.

That's why the violent jerk on my arm takes me by surprise; the cold, hard grip on my forearm yanks me in a direction, dragging me away in a certain direction.

It's the direction back to my little room.

But, why am I being pulled away? Is it my fault that they are unhappy and not as happy as me?

I want to make it different. I want, for everyone to be more like me. It's better that way, I think.

That's why, I don't want to go yet.

And then it goes black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 2 - Glow**

I wake up.

I'm back into the little grey room again, surrounded by the entire grey world that was once all my little world.

That someone or something isn't here right now.

But I want to go see it again. Oh, how I want to see it again! It hasn't taught me how to be smart like it yet, and I haven't been able to say thank you yet either.

And besides, it's supposed to let me go have fun and stuff, I mean that's what it did last time, and I liked it.

I hope it likes doing it, because it makes me feel happy. I hope my being happy makes it feel happier too. It's good like that. I can make good things happen.

It's why I want to see everything, even the things I have already seen before.

Like that big grey world that I wanted to make different, the one with all the people that were not the least bit like me, yet similar nonetheless. It's the one with the scary tall things, the place where I can make good things happen.

I wish that someone would come back; at least I wish that thing is a someone. Then they'll feel happy just as the others would when I make them more like me, happy and free. I'll do good, I promise, I don't break promises.

It brings a pang in my chest after all if I do.

And I hear a sound again; I think I'll call it the sound of opening, the sound of hope to go back outside.

It's that someone again.

They make all the heavy burdens upon me go away, and now I feel lighter than ever before, much more than the first time I woke up.

I'm about to get up on my feet regardless of whether I'm ready or not because I am really looking forward to going there again.

I mean, who knows what I'll find this time?

I'm ready to go, and I'm starting to get up and take a step when I don't feel the ground anymore.

I've been slung over this someone's shoulder. Now I'm being carried away, I'm not thrilled with the arrangement because I would rather feel the world from everything that I possibly can, but, well, as long as it's the same place again, I'll be happy.

The thing is very cold; I thought things like me were supposed to be warm? It makes us pleasant and good after all.

Well, I suppose I'll just have to be good and fix it then. That's what I'm here for.

I want to help after all. It doesn't matter how I do it, as long as it gets done. I wonder where I'm going, so I can think about what I do when I get there.

I feel a rush of the warmth that I felt the first time I had seen that grey world, I'm getting ready to see it again!

I just have to wait.

I see that we are going in the opposite direction that I was going last time, it was towards the tall, scary things. This time we aren't.

For a little while.

The tall scary things are becoming less common, I don't see them so much, and that's good. I'll feel more at ease. That's good.

Or a while.

I'm not sure what's going on, I don't know where it is I'm going. I don't see the grey, I don't see my world, this is not very nice.

Till it becomes unpleasant.

And then I'm tossed, violently, deep into a place that is very different again from the new world that I had just begun to call mine.

It's very, not grey. It's I think what is called green? And I think...

...It is very, very, nice.

I don't see many other people like me, and quite frankly, I don't think there is anything like me; it's all this green stuff. It's not bad, just different I suppose. There are no grey things too, which makes me relax, since there's nothing to be scared of.

I can feel the nicest breeze on my skin; it's very cool on this very warm day. I think I like the different sensations together, it makes it more pleasant than before, not too warm, not too cold.

As well, as I breathe, the air is crisp and clear, and I just think that this may be even better than the big, grey, world where there were a bunch of others that were not smiling like me. Maybe this is what they were missing, and maybe I should bring it to them? I might make them happy like I am.

I can see many different shades of green, and the most peculiar things, I think they are called trees? Plants? Flowers?

I think they're called, colorful, because they all look the same, yet not the same at all, because they have different colours after all. It's like a rainbow of different shades and tones that are only enriching my eyes with the sight before of me.

It's very pretty.

I've also decided something.

I don't think I ever want to leave here either.

I think I like it even more than the world that I had once called mine.

I start to go faster, until I can feel the wind whipping into my face and my hair flying in a frenzy right in the corners of my eyes.

I'm still not very good at moving around all that much, I stumble and almost fall, but I'm getting faster at moving. I'm so very excited after all.

I want to see as much as I possibly can, as fast as I possibly can!

It's such an amazing feeling to be like this, to be feeling so free.

And that's when I look up.

The sight up above is much more interesting than I ever thought it would be.

It would be great if I could reach it. It would be great if I could just get the slightest touch of the little white puffs in the sky. They look very soft after all.

The best part however, it is the wonderful colour behind all the white puffs. It is the prettiest colour that I have ever seen, ever.

It's calm, it's pretty, it's blue, I think.

I really, really like it. It makes me feel the strangest things, but I still really, really, like it.

I also feel an almost cold feeling, yet warm run through me, it's comforting, this colour is comforting. I like it very, very, much.

It fills me with much joy to lay my eyes on this pretty thing, and I just have to touch it, to reach for it. I know now that this is what is missing, what can be used to make the other place much, much better.

I must know it, it is something I have to do after all, since I am better than other people, so I have to be sure to reach it and get it to everyone!

But what is beyond it I wonder?

The world is so filled with surprises that I hope that it will never stop surprising me; it's so much fun after all.

Fun?

Yes I am pretty sure that it's fun.

I reach for it then.

I reach as far as I can and try to just get a glimpse of the things that I do not even have a hint of an idea of what it exactly is.

I don't know why I'm reaching for it, but I really do want to know what it's like, I'm really curious. This burning need to know is making me stretch as far as I can, straining my neck to see if I could get the briefest touch. The desire to reach is burning in me and I try so very hard to touch it even if it's just with the tips of my fingers.

And then something happens. Something very unexpected happen.

I don't feel the ground beneath my feet anymore.

The brief moment when my feet hit the air and then I suddenly feel the most astonishing sensation, of not being stuck to the ground.

It's so very exciting, it's like a completely unknown feeling that I'm not really supposed to know yet at the same time so very great for reasons I don't know. I can't really explain it. It's just, what it is I think. All I know is that I don't hate it.

But it was only for a moment, and then that's when I feel myself crash right back down and a slight dizzying effect controls me as my vision swirls. It happened so fast, if I hadn't been paying attention, I don't think I would've noticed.

It hurt when I fell, I did not like it very much. I feel wetness gathering in my eyes. I don't like this. Not at all.

I feel so very heavy, so heavy. Why though? I don't see why I have to feel so heavy all the time, it's unpleasant.

It is then I notice, that there are things on my back.

They are wings, I think they're called, but not just any wings I've ever seen or dreamed of. They are what I think are called clockwork wings. Almost 2 meters long across my back if I stretch them out fully, or as wide as I can get them to anyway.

I reach out to touch them, marvelling at them. I can't believe I never noticed them. No wonder I feel so heavy all the time.

They are cold; at least that's how they feel to me. They are a mess of different things, but I'm almost certain they are wings. I mean, what else could they be?

They are very grey, they're like the thing I saw earlier, except that the grey is a little shinier, and there's a mix of brown and grey at least that is what I think they are. I like them, they are very nice, they made me feel very cool.

Why wouldn't I like them?

And that is what makes me different; it is why I can smile amongst all the grey in this world full of potential for colour and brightness over dreary grey.

I must try and reach for the best that I can be, so I can discover everything that I can and nothing can stop me, for I have wings.

I can fly.

I can be greater than anyone that I have ever seen.

I mean, I can reach the sky! What could be better than that?

The thought is enough to fill me with golden warmth and joy that flows from the depth of my toes to the tips of every single strand of hair on my head.

And so I practice, and practice, and practice. I try to control them, get them to listen to me, and try to hover above the ground longer and higher each time.

I do this by closing my eyes, more like scrunching them up actually, and think really hard that I want to do it again; I want to fly again, and prepare for the sensation of air on my feet.

It usually works, but when I open my eyes again and start to giggle, I plop right back to the ground, and it isn't very pleasant.

I fall over and over again, and I start to bleed from my head and from my knees and hands, but I can't stop.

I can't stop till I succeed.

There is so much I can do, I can't stop yet!

I see a tree on the side, and every time I reach as high as I can go, I make a mark with something hard that I found on the ground. The lines are getting higher and higher each time! It makes me happy to see that I'm making progress, little by little, seeing the marks become higher with each attempt, even if the difference is just a hair width more.

It's exhilarating, the excitement sending a pleasant hum through my veins.

It's like that for a long while.

It's like I can do this for a long time, maybe forever!

I'm starting to get tired though, and I seem to struggling to even reach my peak heights before, my progress is seemingly grounding to a halt.

The lines, they're getting lower, but that can't be right. It can't be.

Is this all I was meant to be?

I don't think so. I don't want it to be at least.

Then why...

Why can't I control it? Why can't I will them to do my bidding and take me across the barrier that ties me to the ground?

Am I meant to never fly?

No... It can't be. That shouldn't be anything to stop me; I mean I can do whatever I want to, right? I don't see anyone who is unhappy, so it must be right.

I'm doing this so that others can be happy, so it must be right.

I was given wings, to fly. That makes sense, doesn't it?

Of course it does.

But what if...

What if I...

No. It's not like that.

Please no...

No! It can't be!

It's not true!

It isn't. It isn't. It isn't. It isn't. It isn't. It isn't.

So this is it, this is why.

I don't believe it.

But I have to.

There's no hiding it, let alone changing it.

I've been telling myself this entire time that there is something different and queer going on in my body, but the lightness of it all had blinded me.

I like it. I liked it. Oh damn, I still like it.

How foolish I am. What a stupid person I am.

These wings...I can't keep them, I must get rid of them. They have to be gone.

Gone, gone, gone.

They have to go away, no matter what I do, I have to tear them off, no matter what I do, I have to get them away!

They have to go away.

They must.

I have to get rid of them!

I wrap my hands around my left one, and pull as hard as I can.

I try to get them off of me; it really hurts when I try to pull them off. I can feel the attachment to my skin burn like I'm on fire, and the pain is piercing. I see the crimson blood streaming down my back, but they're not gone yet.

I have to pull harder.

They're still there.

The fear is gripping me really tightly, I start to shake, I'm really scared. It also really hurts. I can't really focus on what's around me. I'm confused.

There's wetness in my eyes again, and now it's getting all over my face.

I don't like this, not one little bit.

I start to scream then, hearing myself desperately trying to make them go away. It hurts so much. I don't want to do this. I don't want to.

I have to though. Please no...

But I must!

But it hurts so, so much.

And then it's black.

Again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 3 - Star**

I'm dreaming again.

Only this time, it's not pitch black anymore.

This time, I see someone. She looks kind of like me, since she has that brown hair, but she doesn't have a blue eye.

I see a little girl, rather slender, or should I say very thin? Though it's most likely because she's malnourished. Her cheekbones are so very prominent, and her brown hair looks quite dull, almost dead. It's like there's no fight left in her.

Her brown eyes convey the same message; they are just as dull, almost screaming dissatisfaction, disappointment, anger, frustration, and bleakness with just a gaze. It was like she blamed the world but was too tired to make the effort in doing anything about it when she knew it would do her no good.

She was draped with a dirty rag; there was no other way to describe it. A cloth that fit her like a potato sack? It's not really much better.

She herself was dirty. She was coated with blackish brown debris and dirt. Her hands were callous with blisters from her hard work, her fingernails almost black with all the gritty dirt found in where she lived.

She worked in the mines; it's why she looks so tired, so exhausted and hopeless about the world. Not surprising that she couldn't see a future for herself. She believes that she didn't even really "exist" in the world; she was just another worker in the mines, nothing more.

She didn't even have the luxury of having emotions; nobody cares about that here, no friends, no family, and no lover. She didn't have anything. Even if she cried, there was nobody to be there to tell her that it was going to be ok. There was nobody to take care of her but herself.

It is why she felt that she had nothing to lose when she finally decided to do it.

Behind the depths of bleak acceptance for an equally bleak future, she had fire. Faced with nothing but a bleak future, and a silent plea for a better life, she sparked something inside of her. That fire in her eyes created hope.

Hope for a revolution in this ruined world where poverty haunts the streets just as prominently as the wealth decorated the high rise buildings and upper class.

Hope to perhaps finally see the surface, see the big blue sky that she heard stories about, one that is so beautiful and welcoming to anyone who has ever seen it.

Hope for herself? Not quite. She didn't have much to do if she did succeed.

Hope for others? Maybe. Others might have goals for the rest of their lives.

Hope for a future other than her own? Oh yes. This could change everyone.

She already didn't have anything to lose. Her future wasn't going anywhere, but she had full capability at grasping the spider's thread in front of her that could potentially pull her out of this living hell hole. It wasn't just for her though, she was doing it for everyone else.

She had no family, no friends, no lovers.

She?

She was alone; she didn't even have a smile to lose.

Her life held much less value than anything else.

She could lose nothing. Even if she died, she'd be at peace, after all the years of back-breaking slavery that tried to crush her spirit every day.

So it was that fateful day she gathered enough forces to create quite the uproar in the mines. She gathered everyone she could find, males and females, young and old, strangers and acquaintances, they made no difference. They were willing to help, and she needed it.

She took her time, gathering the sufficient support that she needed to cause quite an uproar in the mines.

It was fine by her though.

She waited her whole life for this.

She could afford to wait a few more years.

It was just her whispering in the shadows. No one really paid attention to a little girl when she wasn't anything special and didn't do much. She did her work at a reasonably pace, and didn't really say much else. She blended in with every other worker there, nothing distinguished her. She was thankful that she wasn't very pretty, or else they would've noticed her a long time ago, and she would've been fresh meat to the pack of evil wolves.

Soon though, whispers of dreams, of futures, of hope, of happiness, they echoed even from the people who once scoffed at the idealistic words that this little girl spoke. She was starting to worm her way past the defences.

They were falling under the spell of thinking and imagining a different life from the one before them. They were allowing themselves to have hope, and instead of staring ahead to a monotonous future of back-breaking work, they thought of what could be instead of what should be instead of what they thought will be.

It was then, the little butterfly's flap of a wing caused a tornado thousands of kilometers away, and it was coming. It was bringing a tsunami with it, too.

She caused a sea of change to come, and she was ready to let it run free to rip the hell hole into shreds and engulf anyone that stood in its way.

She was ready to bring it upon the world that she knew in order to bring forth the world that she wanted to know.

On the day that they decided to rally up and show their pride, their opinions, their drive to create a different future for themselves, she was ready to lead them.

Her small voice that once only whispered in the shadows is now booming loud and clear with unforeseen authority and confidence, raising the morale, and preparing everyone for the start of a new future.

She looked around her, and even among the darkness of the caves, she could see brightness in the eyes of fellow young adults that were just like her, ones that had fire inside, waiting to make a difference.

There is one person that catches her attention more than others.

She sees a young man with blue eyes, and they are much brighter than she would've expected to find in such a desolate place. There is fire within the depths of those eyes, and they mirror the ones that are in her own.

It is the blue that she would see one day, the beatific, untainted blue that was beheld by the sky. She would see it, with certainty.

It is then she finds herself not truly alone anymore, surrounded by people that had the same goals as her, perhaps she can find friends among them.

The thought brought the slightest rush of happiness through her, sensing that she is among people that could one day be her kindred spirits.

That will, however, only come after the war, and now she must focus.

It was their time.

It started with one single war cry, it was shrill, and piercing, but held the fiery anger that was hidden in the crowd for many years.

There were shouts everywhere then.

Screaming, screeches, cries, any loud voices of all kinds were armed with pick axes and wreaking havoc in their hell hole in an attempt to bring it all down.

The oppressors were never spared, and were brutally being beaten and dominated by the oppressed, ironically switching roles. It was gruesomely satisfying to hear their tortured cries ring out among all the havoc and battle cries of the brave warriors.

There was blood spilled, everywhere, the oppressors and the oppressed alike. This movement would not be without heavy payments, and she knew that very well.

She believed that life was just a game of being stolen from or stealing. Today, with every life she took with a swing of her pickaxe, feeling the warm, sticky, blood spray onto her face and watching the eyes rolling into the back of their heads, she feels a sense of hollowness. She is merely stealing the lives of her victims just as much as the elites stole from hers. She wasn't anything better than any of them. Though to her, it didn't matter.

She didn't see her life as valuable. Neither was theirs.

She after all, went into this knowing that she would not live to see the end. She will see to it that as many of their oppressors would go down with her, into the depths of hell.

Everyone has blood on their hands, nobody is innocent. It is the price to pay for freedom, for great change. There is no way to wash their hands clean, because those lives taken will never be given back.

She was fine with that.

She could take all the blame for bloodshed if they wished, it didn't matter to her.

It wasn't like she thought her life was worth living anyway.

She was here to lead them, to point them in the right direction.

It was so that one day, if they ever did lose her, they would be able to continue what she had started, with perhaps even more vigor with their figurehead gone, killed by their oppressors, fueling their rage and only encouraging them to go even further to achieve their vision of a better future.

Her life would serve its purpose, and she wouldn't ever have to worry about doing anything ever again.

Her only wish was to see the sky before she died, that was all she wanted.

And she did.

As she fought her way through to the edge of the tunnels, she saw the barest bit of light leaking in, and not caring about the pain in her calloused feet, she ran to the light. To the chance to see the blue sky.

What was a fleeting glance had turned into a long state of admiration of the grand sight before her, better than she could have ever imagined.

It was the purest blue that she had ever seen in her life, not that she had seen many colours before. The dark mines didn't give much room for colourful things after all, and dreams and imagination could only provide so much.

The blue was so comforting, so perfect that her eyes weren't used to such a magnificent sight, they were burning with hot, unshed tears of joy and relief after all her tiring years of work. She loved the colour with such ferocity that she knew that she would stop at nothing to gain the privilege to see it every day.

It made her feel so free, so light. A feeling of warmth, of pleasantry spread from her heart to warm the rest of her cold body.

The clouds looked like they were of the fluffiest material, so soft that if she perhaps just touched them they would fall apart.

And look, there are birds, very small ones, but you could still see them from here. How happy they seem, with their silhouettes flying without a care in the world of the wide sky where there are no limits.

How she wished she was like them.

And she might be able to reach that life, when she died that is. All that is left is for her is to see this through as long as she can, until she dies.

She can hold on for that long, she supposes.

She will.

Although, a small voice at the back of her mind was speaking another wish, a wish of wanting to gaze at the sky just a little longer.

In that moment, she let herself bask in the comfort of the light, and the blue sky, as a reward for all that she had done so far.

She never expected a force to come out of nowhere, knocking her off her feet after hitting her head so hard that she saw stars dancing in her vision.

"Dirty Rebel."

And the world went black.

Sometimes, she can hear some faint whizzing and tinkles of metal as she is stuck in her realm of darkness.

Most times she is shot with the most painful fire blazing across her back as she struggles to keep her shouts to herself, only to fail miserably by hearing her agonizing shrieks and cries reaching deaf ears.

She fights viciously to stop those who are assaulting her back, those things, but she is bound to this hard table, and she can do nothing.

All she can do is listen to her own suffering, and remember her voice as the horrible shrieking mess slowly morph from a war cry to one filled with pain and insanity. She can only remember screaming for so long that she could no longer make a sound, and by that point she can only let out silent screams. She could no longer even make noise. Her authoritative voice had disappeared, along with any hope of seeing the sky ever again.

She can only hear the ripping of flesh and mechanized noises, as she feels the stinging of a thousand needles, of burning fire ripping at her back. Her tear ducts have grown raw from overuse, and she can no longer cry, for her salt-encrusted eyes have dried.

She can only slowly feel her fire disappear, and the hopelessness that comes to take its place.

She has failed. She is sure everyone has failed.

The best times are when she sleeps, and she can only see, hear, and feel the darkness. Slowly, feeling everything slip away from her as she feels condemned to her fate, she gives in and stops struggling against everything. She hides from it all.

She rests in the darkness. She suffers a little less there.

The only thing that she remembers is how she misses the delicate, blue, sky.

How she will miss it.

She waits, not even knowing what she is waiting for, even as she feels everything slip away from her.

She disappears then. And there is nothing. Nothing but darkness.

She's gone then.

It ends there. The story ends there.

That is it.

But wait.

It isn't done yet. Far from it.

The thought that comes transforms into a startling realization as I carefully contemplate what I had just seen.

It wasn't just a dream.

She...

She is me.

I... I am the rebel queen.

And they...those things that I called pleasant and nice, they did this to me.

They sewed mechanical wings onto my back as part of my punishment; this is some kind of disgusting hobby of theirs, making monsters for their own amusement. Who knows, they might have thought that they would make something useful of me, perhaps a special kind of soldier.

Even if I turned out to be useless, they could parade me around as their puppet in order to make an example of what rebels had coming for their punishment, show them what they'll become if they continued with their rebellion. They want to crush any fight that any of us had, and show that even the strongest fall to their knees in front of them.

I don't see why not, all of them are rotten to the core after all.

I think that was their main intention, after all, I have never received any training in fighting whatsoever. It doesn't make sense that I was created to be a soldier, I was created as a symbol for oppression, to instill fear in everyone who thinks of rebellion.

They do it to crush dreams and maintain their power, because this way, they can steal whatever they wish from those who don't exist in the world above. We are the same as a rat in the sewers.

People like me, we are nothing to them.

Nobody can steal from them, as they are all powerful, they are everything that we, who are nothing, aren't. There isn't anything that can be done about that fact, it is something we are born into and we cannot change that, no matter how we wish for it. Our lives were decided the moment we were born, and whatever happens afterwards were just meant to happen based on who you are, as well as where.

They took my body apart, and mixed in anything they found "more useful" than the parts that I had, whether it be eyes, legs, parts of a face, bones, anything. It was probably to make me ugly. I was plain before, but now I have stitches lining my body, making me work of patchwork. It was for "fun" I suppose.

When you have all the power in the world, and you can do whatever wished, I suppose you would bore easily. You have time to ponder what boundaries you can push, and imagine to what extent that you can play God.

The time I spent working for survival was free time for those who lived with elites, lived in luxury, lived with evil. It's no wonder that they can think of things like this, things that don't even serve much of a purpose but destroying a person.

It's just for amusement.

They even gave me a blue eye, almost as if to taunt me for never being able to truly reach what I had desired, despite having a permanent reminder of it on me.

They gave me these wings, cursed wings, forever destroying anything that I ever had, the only thing I had.

My dignity as a human, my sanity.

They made me a monster.

I didn't have anything to be stolen, yet they were able to somehow take away the only things that I did have. They were the things that I never realized I had, and I never would have thought I would lose them, but now I have.

And it is at this moment I realize that the bizarre feeling that I once had has suddenly disappeared, that void has now been filled back in again. I feel my innocence disappear, ebbing away slowly as the truth slowly sets in.

The burden upon my shoulders however, has multiplied in weight and I feel the heavy burden put back onto my body again, returning the feelings of weariness that once plagued every moment of my life.

Oh.

I...

I understand now.

I didn't want to accept this kind of life, I was afraid of being the rebel leader after all those days of torture. Perhaps it was years, I don't remember. They never did tell me the time in those times after all. They broke my delicate mind that was not used to torture, and for my own protection, perhaps I had decided to let go of the memories and start anew.

It was selfish.

It angers me, that I would have done this to myself.

Though I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures, and I did what I had to do in order to protect my mind. Though it would seem that I have never lost myself, she's simply been sleeping while I recovered.

I can't deny that I did enjoy those few, carefree moments where I didn't have to worry about everyone else, it was beautiful innocence.

It was perhaps the good, happy, childhood that I never had, being one who was born in the mines, a world without light. Though all good things come to an end, and so I must depart from the world of the amnesiac me. It was nice getting to that side of me.

At least I have somewhat of a childhood now; it's more than I can say that most of us orphans got in the mines.

I have returned now, and I know what I must do. I just need to figure out a way to not let the darkness take over again, because I will ebb away due to its presence.

I will fight. I will struggle. I have to, after all. I'm a monster, I'm feral, I'm an abomination, and I will wreak havoc.

I refuse to become only a memory as a glimmering star that was successful in guiding those lost souls, I have not disappeared into the dark night sky, into nothingness. I cannot be just this, I have to be more, I must lead them. I cannot waste a second longer being lulled into a false sense of security, I must fight.

Though I still lose.

I'm too tired. My heavy eyes drift shut against my will again.

And the world slowly fades away.


End file.
